


Exchange

by Rosage



Category: Radiant Historia
Genre: F/F, Femslash February, Femslash February Trope Bingo, Post-Canon, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-22
Updated: 2015-02-22
Packaged: 2018-03-14 12:44:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3411092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rosage/pseuds/Rosage
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Years after the war’s ended, Alistelian troops are still being stationed in Granorg—but for Eruca, at least, it’s not all bad.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Exchange

**Author's Note:**

> This was done for the Femslash February Trope Bingo square 'holiday.'

Eruca donned her hood, making sure each curl was hidden before carrying a tray of food into the soldiers’ quarters. As queen she hadn’t given up on seeing everything with her own eyes, and Alistelian soldiers freshly stationed in Granorg were no exception. After scuffles between Granorg’s citizens and Alistel’s soldiers, Prime Minister Raul had pulled some of Alistel’s troops out…only to send this new squad in. With reports of Granorgites burning down the houses of Alistelian immigrants, it was understandable, but she couldn’t leave hostilities between their nations to chance, not after performing the ritual a few years past. 

Her heart clenched as she set down the tray. Spying always made her think of him. Bowing her head, she backed away and let the servant—guard, really—accompanying her deliver drinks while she surveyed the table.

The troops looked like little more than raw recruits, but as soon as she spotted their captain she understood what the Prime Minister had meant about sending someone who could keep the soldiers in line. It was remarkable how much a few years had changed Raynie. Her broader shoulders bore the weight of a set of armor befitting a captain, and the focused way she watched her subordinates eased any worries Eruca had about her lack of leadership experience.

The soldiers dug into the food without reservation. Despite protests from the cooks that produce from Cornet Village was wasted on the soldiers, Eruca thought it was the right decision; keeping them happy was in everyone’s best interest.

That Raynie’s place at the head of the table was set with only water didn’t escape Eruca’s notice. Granorg was in the middle of a holiday in which everyone—nobles and citizens alike—fasted, part of the reason quality ingredients could be spared on Alistel’s soldiers, but to Eruca’s knowledge nobody had told the Alistelians that.

A couple of men got into a squabble over a piece of meat, which Raynie dispersed by handing it to a nearby girl. Eruca lifted a hand to cover her smile, and the motion caught Raynie’s eye. Her mouth formed an ‘o’ when she saw Eruca, who pressed a finger to her lips and nodded. Grinning, Raynie turned away, likely to avoid drawing anyone else’s attention to her.

Having seen all she needed to, Eruca slipped out before the sight of food could tempt her. She didn’t mind fasting, as unlike her subjects a queen’s hunger was only ever voluntary, but it didn’t make her stomach ache less at the day’s end.

She was halfway down the hall when she noticed Raynie following her. For someone with such a strong presence, Raynie’s footsteps were surprisingly light; Eruca recalled Raynie’s past occupation and the mission she’d once been tasked with, but there was no sense holding that against her now, even if the circumstances still raised the hair on the back of Eruca’s neck. Halting, she waited for Raynie with folded hands and a practiced smile.

“Long time no see,” Raynie said, her voice hoarse from what Eruca assumed was a recent increase in yelling. “Sorry—too informal?”

“I don’t mind.”

“Good, ‘cause I’ve been buried in formalities ever since being promoted.” Raynie fell into step beside Eruca, their shared past—brief and tense as it was—affording them immediate silence. Meaning to congratulate her, Eruca became distracted as she glanced sidelong at Raynie. Up close, she could see the changes in Raynie’s face since their last meeting—stronger cheekbones, a scar across her upper lip, all dramatized by the wall lanterns’ harsh light. Her cheeks heated when she realized Raynie could see her staring; she swallowed and summoned conversation. 

“Forgive me if it’s intrusive to comment, but I noticed that you weren’t eating…”

Raynie waved a hand. “Don’t worry about me. I’m just fasting right now.”

“I figured as much. I just wanted to tell you that while you have been deployed here, you needn’t feel obligated to follow our customs. Although…” Only minutes ago the scent of food had made Eruca salivate; now her mouth felt dry. “You may understand the meaning of this holiday better than most Granorgites.”

Eruca had lowered her chin, her eyes on the tiles but her thoughts below them, and it took her a moment to realize that Raynie was giving her a puzzled look. “Yeah. I mean, it’s not a Granorgian holiday,” Raynie said. Blinking, Eruca wrinkled her brow. 

“Is Alistel also in the middle of a fast? Should we not have delivered that meal?”

“Nah, you made those kids’ day,” Raynie said, fondness leaking into her voice. “They were eating biscuits on the way here. But actually, it’s Cygnus that’s fasting right now.”

“Are you from Cygnus, then?”

Raynie looked down at her boots, kicking with them as she walked along. “I dunno where to say I’m ‘from,’ really, but I spent a while there as a merc, so I still follow some of their traditions. I’m not surprised they overlap with Granorg’s, though—folks drift to Cygnus from all over. It’s kind of a grab bag of culture.”

“I see…I must put more effort into studying it.”

“Sounds like you. Well, I only spent a few years there, but you can ask me whatever. I’m curious to know if it really is the same holiday myself.”

They’d arrived at the end of the hall, and Eruca stopped, not meaning to tear Raynie away from her post. Her eyes traveled to a painting of two of her ancestors, a man and woman with dusty hair and grim expressions. One held a quill and bent over a table across which a roll of parchment sprawled; the other crouched on the floor, examining a segment of it. The parchment bunched up and trailed off the edge of the painting.

“This land has only survived on the blood of sacrifices,” Eruca murmured. “For a fortnight every year, all of Granorg fasts in recognition of that.”

Raynie didn’t respond immediately, and Eruca worried it had been a mistake to broach that topic so soon, or perhaps at all. Then in a not-quite-whisper, Raynie said, “I see what you meant.”

Eruca’s broke her gaze away from the painting. Raynie scratched the back of her head, dipping her fingers under her collar. “All kinds of sacrifices keep the world spinning,” Raynie continued. “They don’t have to know about, well, the big one to keep that in mind.”

“That’s true,” Eruca said. Raynie’s hand dropped to her hip.

“I’ve gotta go make sure that lot’s behaving. I’ll catch you later? Judging from my orders, we’ll prob’ly be here a while.”

Despite Raynie’s sheepish eyes, her chin was cocked, making her grin all the more crooked. Eruca’s fingers laced together as she smiled, and although politically those orders were troublesome, she couldn’t bring herself to wish they hadn’t been made—in fact, found herself hoping the soldiers would stay for quite a long time.


End file.
